


Fuck Sacrifice

by Dark_Ruby_Regalia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, I really want to say Existential Masturbation but it's not entirely true, M/M, Mentions of Masturbation, Resigned to Fate, angry thoughts, pre-Ignoct
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ruby_Regalia/pseuds/Dark_Ruby_Regalia
Summary: This is pre-Altissia Noct over-laden with anger, lacking an outlet.This is one of the first pieces I wrote but never published. I'd been tapping out a second part that never formed the way I'd hoped. This bit stands on its own though, so here it is!
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Fuck Sacrifice

* * *

Noctis lay on his side. His body was so accustomed to aching by now that he stopped searching for comfortable positions; however he landed, he slept, though he always stuck close to the edge of the mattress. There were very few ways to respect boundaries, but this was one of them. He wasn’t alone under these blankets. 

Though they all longed for alone time, they shared beds to save money. The novelty of it — of the poverty and the shared beds both — was fast choked to nothing by the vice of necessity. Come evening, by now, they fell into formed routines of simulating something representative of personal space — some kind of reverential drop in volume, economy of movement, everyone turning in on themselves. When the silence grew heavy nobody asked questions. Not any more. There were no answers, and they all knew it.

Despite the constant company, there was part of him growing increasingly lonely and starved for affection. Touching himself had started to make it worse; finding release let his guard down, and the feelings flooded out with the rest of his junk. First time, the extent of it surprised him. Second time, he’d been worried about it in advance, prepped for sudden onset shame. Shedding tears through an orgasm was hardly behaviour befitting a future king, but neither was wiping jizz off his fingers and his softening cock with cheap paper towel in motel bathrooms.

There was another part of him, though, that thought it was fitting. All this fell right in alongside his fatalistic resignation to prophecies and fates. Others saw it manifest as complacency and indifference, and he’d been shouted down many a time already when his mumbled responses didn’t meet another’s idea of who and how he should be now that his father was dead. He preferred to think of it as acceptance, but in moments more honest, he saw it nudge up closer to escapism. Which might have been a mask for anger.

Everybody had their role in this play, and he watched them all play it. The motions well practiced, worn in to look natural. But without this script, who were these people? Who was he? He’d gone through patches of pity. Patches of rebellion. Patches of falling through the deep chasm of self-loss. But all that aside, the boots still fit, and you can only put your feet in them ironically so many times before you realise you’re still putting the damn things on.

He got to live his life as an empty vessel for the fates to inhabit. After that, he’d be hurled heroically off a cliff — golden and glinting along the cataclysmic parabola that would smash him majestically at the feet of old Gods. Gods who, with all power, with all knowledge, still ask for something as archaic as _sacrifice_ . It was… it was _sick_. 

There were so many reasons to sleep forever… 

So he curled himself around the hollow at his core and reached his mind towards oblivion.

Unknown to him, at his back, mind racing through another sleepless night, Ignis was plotting… 

* * *


End file.
